


The Secret Service and Its Secrets

by clare_dragonfly



Category: NCIS, Warehouse 13
Genre: Community: intoabar, Crossover, Gen, Pre-Series
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-08
Updated: 2013-12-08
Packaged: 2018-01-03 23:09:16
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,696
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1074143
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/clare_dragonfly/pseuds/clare_dragonfly
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Abby Sciuto walks into a bar and meets... Artie Nielsen!</p><p>Actually, it's not a bar. It's an internet connection. And then a bullpen. And a lot of mystery.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Secret Service and Its Secrets

**Author's Note:**

> This may demand a sequel that is a full-fledged crossover. Hey, if I can write a Criminal Minds/Warehouse 13 crossover, why not NCIS?
> 
> Set sometime before the series start of Warehouse 13 and during season 6 of NCIS.

Abby was really, really glad she didn’t have to see this body—she was usually glad she didn’t have to see bodies, but this one in particular sounded awful, because when Jimmy had brought her the DNA sample, even he had looked freaked out, and he had told her that Gibbs wanted the DNA match ASAP, because this was all they had to identify him by.

She’d been her usual cheerful self and assured Jimmy that she would get it done with her usual speed and aplomb, but inside, she was shaken. So she was checking the DNA search every few seconds, in between testing the clothing that they’d brought her for explosive residue and whatever else she could think of (because it was burned in a very unusual manner and she couldn’t place it), hoping that there would be a match really, really soon.

Their dead person wasn’t in the Navy or the Marines—which was probably going to make things tricky if they ran into jurisdiction issues, but they had found him on a ship, so that would hold things off for a while. He wasn’t in the Coast Guard or the ATF or…

_Beep beep._

He was in the Secret Service!

She carefully put down her testing supplies before rushing to the computer. “Gotcha,” she said. “Now let’s find your name and face.”

But there was no name and there was no face. There was a bright red alert that flashed up and disappeared before she could actually read any more than “MISSING, PRESUMED,” and then her computer was doing weird things.

Very familiar weird things.

“Oh, no, you don’t,” she muttered, fingers sprinting along the keyboard. “Not again.” This was far from the first time that someone had tried to hack into her computer to get her fingerprint or DNA match, and she wasn’t going to let them beat her.

They were good, though. Almost as good as her. But she was better. Just a little bit. If she’d had McGee with her to help, she would have been certain she could get the hacker’s location, but right now all she was managing to do was to keep him out of her computer. She still couldn’t see the identity of the man on the table downstairs, but in a minute…

Her phone rang.

She hit the speaker button with her elbow, fingers still moving rapidly. “Abby Sciuto.”

“Miss Sciuto.”

“Director Vance! Great to hear from you, but I’m a little busy at the moment. I’m—“

“Chasing a hacker?”

“Yes! How’d you know?”

“That’s what I’m calling about. I’ve received a peculiar but urgent call ordering you off. Let the hacker get what he wants and leave it alone.”

“But—“

“Order, Miss Sciuto.”

“Right, sir.” She forcibly pulled her hands away from the keyboard. The face of a man appeared briefly on her screen, and she hurried to scribble down his name. Aloysius Mc—and that was all she got. Weird name.

And as the face and the name disappeared, so did all the other information.

“Someone had a trace on that DNA match, Director.”

“That would appear to be the case, Miss Sciuto. I’ll keep you apprised of any developments. I hope there are some.”

She’d never heard the director sound quite so confused as he did at the moment. She leaned on her desk for a moment, catching her breath, and letting him hang up without saying goodbye.

Then she called Gibbs.

“I don’t think we’re supposed to have the name, but I got it. Someone else hacked in and the director ordered me to let him in. All he took was the information on the DNA match. Yeah. The name is Aloysius McSomething. Secret Service.”

—

Abby was in the bullpen chatting with Ziva when the short man in the tweed jacket walked in and demanded, “Where’s the body?”

Gibbs gave the man a stare and said, “And you would be?”

The short man was, oddly enough, not terrified. He didn’t even seem to be impressed. “Arthur Nielsen.” He pushed his glasses up on his nose and didn’t offer a handshake. “Mrs. Frederic called ahead. I’m taking over the investigation.”

“Excuse me?” said Tony in disbelief. “That body was found on a ship, and until we know more, there’s no reason this isn’t an NCIS case. We don’t know if he was murdered or how or why.”

“He wasn’t murdered,” Arthur said briskly. “And he’s one of mine. If you’ll let me speak to your director, I’m sure he’ll tell you all about it.” He didn’t sound sure. Actually, he sounded like he’d rather not be talking to anyone here at all.

“You’re Secret Service?” Ziva asked.

Arthur looked at her with narrowed eyes, clutching his bag (it looked like an old-fashioned doctor’s bag) more tightly. “How do you know about that?”

“You’re the hacker,” Abby said in sudden realization. “You’re the one who tried to get into my computer.”

“I did get into your computer, young lady,” Arthur snapped, turning to face her. “So you’re the one who tried to keep me out, are you?”

Abby crossed her arms defensively. “You were hacking into my computer. I had every right to protect myself. How did I know that you weren’t looking for government secrets?”

“I—“

“Well, I know you work for the government now, but how was I supposed to know that then?”

“All right, that’s a good point,” he said, mumbling a little and pushing up his glasses again.

“Why did you even have a trace on that DNA match?”

“Because McCrae is one of my men and he’s been missing for nine years. I knew there wasn’t going to be much to identify him by, and I wanted to find him as soon as someone else did. Preferably earlier, of course, in order to avoid awkward questions, but…” He shrugged.

“Whoa, whoa, he’s been missing for nine years?” said Tony. “How’d he get on the ship? And how come nobody noticed him before then, if he was there when he died?”

“That, young man, is a very good question, now isn’t it?” Arthur turned on Tony, but was immediately distracted by the sight of Vance walking down the steps. “Ah, Director Vance, isn’t it? Can you kindly point me to the body of my agent so I can get out of their way?” He gestured back at the team as though they weren’t even worth names.

“Not so fast,” said the director, approaching them. “Agent Nielsen, I’ve spoken to your Mrs. Frederic, and I’m sure you’ll agree that she’s very persuasive.”

“Yes, well, that’s one of her jobs,” said Arthur. “So you’ll sign over the body.”

“Actually, we’re not Secret Service, so she doesn’t have any jurisdiction over us,” Director Vance said. “And I’d like to know a little more. So how about some interagency cooperation?”

Abby cheered inwardly. Much as she didn’t want to see the body, she was really, really interested now as to what this was all about. What did Arthur mean that he knew there wasn’t going to be much to identify Agent McCrae by?

“Can’t do it,” said Arthur. “It’s a matter of national security.”

“Agent Gibbs and I both have the highest possible clearances, and we have multiple SKIFs available, so if that’s the only issue…” said Director Vance invitingly.

Arthur shook his head stubbornly. “No one has these clearances. It’s not a matter of height. It’s a matter of specificity. And we will go over your heads if necessary.”

“Oh, come on,” said Abby, nearly bursting with curiosity. “Not even one little hint as to what this is all about?”

“No!” snapped Arthur, making Abby take a step back in surprise. “Any such knowledge would put all of you in danger.” He glared around at all of them, even McGee, who had been completely silent this whole time. “I’m sorry,” he said, his voice softening. “I’m sure you’re all wonderful investigators. But I truly cannot tell you.”

As if on cue, his phone rang. He fumbled it out of his bag and held it to his ear—upside-down at first. “Hello? Yes, thank you, Mrs. Frederic.” He handed the phone to Vance.

Vance took it curiously. “Ma’am? I—oh. No, sir. Yes, sir. I understand, sir.” His face went completely still, and Abby had the sinking feeling that she wasn’t going to find out what Arthur Nielsen was doing today.

Finally Vance shut the phone and handed it back to Arthur. “That was, as I’m sure you’re aware, the Secretary of the Navy. He’s ordered me to hand over the body, and any and all evidence, to Agent Nielsen here. Miss Sciuto, I believe you have an item of the deceased’s clothing in your lab?”

“I need that,” said Arthur immediately.

“My point exactly,” said the director. “Miss Sciuto, please bring Agent Nielsen to your lab to ensure he gets everything he needs. I’ll inform Dr. Mallard that he needs to ready the body for transport.”

“Right this way, Arthur,” Abby said cheerily, glad to have something to do—and maybe a chance to get the Secret Service agent to give her a few hints as to what exactly was going on.

Agent Nielsen muttered something as they made their way to the back elevator. “What was that?” Abby asked, pressing the down button.

“Call me Artie,” he said, still mumbling but at least audible this time.

“Nice to meet you, Artie. I’m Abby.” They stepped into the elevator. “That was some pretty impressive hacking back there. You might have gotten past me even if the director hadn’t ordered me off.” She might be exaggerating a little, but it never hurt to butter up a man a little—especially older, geeky-looking ones like him. If he was at all receptive, she might try some serious flirting (he was a little old, but otherwise her type), but he was pretty closed-off.

“Yes, well,” said Artie, sounding mildly pleased with himself.

“So why the secrecy? I mean, I managed to catch Agent McCrae’s name, but you worked really hard to keep us from finding out.” The elevator doors opened and she stepped out, leading Artie to her lab.

“National security.”

“I know, you said that, but I mean, Gibbs is just about the most trustworthy person there is.” She gesticulated as she spoke, habit from growing up with Deaf parents. “I mean, he doesn’t even talk. He talks sometimes, of course, but if you don’t want him to talk about something? His lips are totally sealed. And I talk a lot, obviously,” she added, gesturing at her own mouth, “but if it’s a secret, I won’t tell anybody. Except Gibbs. But he would already know.”

“National security,” repeated Artie, growing terser. “Believe me, you’re better off not knowing. Now, I believe you had some evidence for me?”

“Oh, yeah.” Everything was carefully bagged up as usual when she left her lab, so she just handed the bags over to him with a pen to sign the evidence log. “This is all that was left of Agent McCrae’s clothing. There might be some residue of testing left, so sorry about that.”

In the middle of signing, Artie looked up sharply, his already bushy eyebrows growing bushier with tension. “I’ll need a complete list of every test you ran on these items. Everything that may have even touched them. Including the chemical composition of your gloves and this table.”

“Sure thing!” Abby spun to her computer and opened up her list. While she copied it to a text document and added the information on her table and gloves, she kept talking. “I was really trying hard to figure out what did that to him and his clothes, you know. It was really weird. I mean, I’m really good at this stuff, but I still couldn’t figure out what was on them. I was just downstairs taking a break and hoping that something that happened would trigger a new idea for how to test the clothes. That sort of thing happens a lot around here. But I couldn’t find any signs of poison, or acid, or anything that I could think of that would explain all this horrible damage.” She spun again as the list printed out to hand it to Artie.

He snatched it out of her hand, so grumpy that he wasn’t even distracted by the fluttering of her skirt. “Good! I would get very worried if there was any standard forensic test that would tell you… never mind.”

“Oh, come on,” said Abby, desperately curious now. “Please? Can’t you even give me a hint?”

“No.” He turned without a thank you, or giving back her pen, and stalked toward the elevator. Well, it wasn’t really a stalk. It was more of a stump. He was too short and round to stalk.

“Maybe it’s voodoo,” Abby wondered out loud (though she didn’t really believe in voodoo, of course). “Or—ooh! Aliens! Are you from Area 51?” That would explain everything, wouldn’t it? The government cover-up, the unprecedented failure of her testing…

“What? No!” Artie spun around, glaring ferociously. His eyebrows had gone from curiously bushy to alarmingly bushy. “I am not from Area 51. And it’s not voodoo!” He wagged the pen at her, then seemed to suddenly realize it wasn’t his. He frowned at it for a moment, then stumped back into the room and handed her the pen.

“Bye, Artie! It was nice to meet you!” Abby called cheerfully as he made his way back to the elevator, stuffing the evidence bags into his doctor’s bag. He just grunted in response.

As soon as the elevator doors had closed on him, she dashed to her computer. If he was from Area 51, she would be able to find some trace of that, right? She would at least be able to narrow down his geographical area.

An hour later, though, she was scowling at her computer and feeling the beginnings of a tension headache. No, wait, that was a caffeine withdrawal headache. With no case to run down, there was no Gibbs checking up on her and bringing a Caf-Pow. She looked around, making sure she wasn’t going to accidentally preempt him, then marched to her fridge, where she kept several emergency spares.

Sucking on the straw and feeling a little better, she went back her computer and stared at it. Artie’s hack had not originated in Nevada. In fact, it had originated in South Dakota. What was in South Dakota? Based on the limited geographical profile she’d managed to narrow down, nothing but dirt, a few tiny towns, and a gigantic IRS warehouse. He couldn’t be hacking her from the IRS, could he?

No. There were definitely secrets going on here. And Abby Sciuto was going to get to the bottom of them.

—

However, despite hacking in every minute of her free time (and some of the minutes that weren’t free), Abby did not find out what was on the other end of her hack. She looked for information on Artie Nielsen and found very little. After a few weeks she expanded her search, looking through forensics chat rooms and conspiracy theory message boards on the internet. She checked Area 51 information to see if there was anything about South Dakota in those, but that led nowhere at all.

In fact, none of it led anywhere at all until almost a year after Artie’s visit.

There was someone else in the chat room looking for information on Artie Nielsen. Using the alias “wereallmadhere,” she appeared to be poking around just as Abby was—but her information was different. She knew Artie the man, not Artie the Secret Service agent.

So Abby told her about the Secret Service, and about how she’d traced him to South Dakota. Wereallmadhere got really excited, thanked Abby a lot, and then Abby never heard from her again.

Eventually, she stopped trying to hack into Artie’s trail. Even Abby had to admit sometimes that there were things that were too big for her.

But she still thought about wereallmadhere sometimes, and she wondered—and hoped—that she’d helped.


End file.
